𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓! | harry styles

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IT'S like I can't breathe without her, this new version of Evelyn. The one that loves me.

She forgoes Mike, choosing to spend her time with me. I know this cause I'm there when the calls come in, when the texts come in, wondering where she is.

She ignores them, looking at her phone like it's an annoyance. Like right now, as we sit in the cab of my pick up, sharing her cigarette.

"Why don't you just break up with him?"

Venom. Snapping and turning her perfect lips ugly. "Why don't you end your engagement?"

Low blow. "It's not that easy."

"You seem to think my breakup would be easier than yours. Why? Cause we're in high school and it's stupid teenage stuff?"

"That's one reason."

Glaring. "You think I don't know that you and Lydia were high school sweethearts? Don't be a judgmental, condescending prick."

"It's completely different, Evelyn. For one, she was the only one I was with," I give her a pointed stare. "Second, Lydia and I have been together over ten years, since we were freshman. Not only since the summer before senior year like you and Sullivan," I say his name with a twisted, sour mouth out of habit.

"Yeah. And tell me what you have is the best fucking thing ever. The relationship to end all relationships."

Silence. She inhales and squints against the smoke coming out of her mouth.

Then I say it. "You want me to end it?" Visions of wedding and life planning hang there, giving her the opportunity.

"I wouldn't feel guilty if you did."

My world crashes, everything I've known. I just put it on her to make a decision I should've long ago.

"You saying there's a reason to?"

"I'm saying there's no reason not to. I wouldn't mind."

And even though it's cryptic, twisted and not really said, I hear it loud and clear.

The next few days are extraordinary.

Evelyn texts me day and night, asking me to meet her, go to the cabin, come to her bedroom. She's careful not to say hello in school, but she doesn't hang on Mike like she used to.

Her feet are in my lap, one manicured big toe dangerously close to my dick that is stiffening again despite the fucktastic blow job it just got.

I feel reflective, laying here in her bed past midnight, with her so comfortable, not the ordinary. "Did you always know you wanted to act?" My finger grabs her toe and pulls gently.

"Oh yeah. I used to put on plays in the backyard. Made Mom and Dad sit on the swing set while the porch became my stage." I smile, picturing that scene pieced together from the pictures of a younger Evelyn that hang in her stairwell. "Did you always want to coach football?" she teases, moving her body closer so her side is pressed against mine.

I'm surprised when it comes out so quickly. "No." She looks at me, waiting. Something she wouldn't have done weeks ago, showing interest in anything past this. "I always wanted to own a bar."

Her eyes widen. "Really? Why don't you?"

"My father is a retired college football coach."

She frowns, mulling over my answer. "That's his dream. No one said you had to do what he did."

"No, but it was implied."

She turns over onto her stomach, hiding her breasts from me. "You read it that way. Didn't mean you had to do it."

And she's right. About all of it. It's me that chose everything in my life that seems to be careening into a life I don't want.

"Maybe I'll go to Hollywood with you. Buy a bar," I joke, and instantly wish I hadn't, anticipating her past flippant responses so ingrained in her personality where we're concerned.

"You should. I could be your struggling actress waitress." Her hand moves over me with affection, slightly hesitant. It's not the pinches I know when she's fucking around.

I don't know if she's joking or not. But I don't press it, just in case she is.

* * *

Without Lydia noticing, I start to move out my stuff.

Little things, to the cabin, like my box filled with high school accolades, my diploma, my statue of the shoe I got for the MS walk.

I figure I'll have to stay here once I call off the wedding, until the school year ends, and I find a job in California. The obvious thing is to find a coaching or PE position for now, until I figure out if I'm really going to go all the way and do the bar thing. The idea of Evelyn working for me makes my heart rush and my dick harden, I'd make her wear tiny shorts and a little bar apron. A tight, white T-shirt with my name across her tits.

I'd own her and everyone would know it.

Getting lost in fantasy only makes reality crash down harder, when as I'm cleaning out the garage 'to make more room', I start to think about just how I'm going to go about changing my life and ruining the life of the one person who doesn't deserve it.

There's no good way. She'll hate me less if I do it before it's too late to get deposits back on venues and caterers. Before the dress comes in for final fittings and before we start house hunting.

Who am I kidding? She's going to hate me regardless. And I'll deserve it, and I'll take it, and I'll be the bad guy the entire town will see me as until I leave. Hopefully they won't learn about Evelyn and me until I'm far gone, away from it all.

My hands touch Christmas decorations in a box, something I won't be moving, and I'm about to close the lid when the cheesy picture of Lydia and me sitting on Santa's lap senior year that she made into an ornament sits staring at me from the top of the pile.

I stare at it as I rub my churning, acidic stomach, and I feel a bit of sadness, but I think it's more for the loss of everything that's familiar and not really for the loss of our relationship. Closing the lid slowly, like I need to protect the contents within, I push it back into its spot in the corner.

Maybe I'll wait until after Christmas to kill her and every dream in her head.